


A Lot Can Happen in Seven Years

by DinoDina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Quidditch, Slow Burn, but it starts when they meet so there's time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDina/pseuds/DinoDina
Summary: Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood, from the first time they meet on the train to Hogwarts, to the moment they leave.
Relationships: Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. First Year - 1: Making Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver goes off to Hogwarts and makes a friend

Most British wizards went to Hogwarts. There was always an uptight family that picked Beauxbatons instead, or a suspicious one that went with Durmstrang, but familiarity—and a certain amount of nationalistic superiority—won out in the end. Still, most young witches and wizards didn't know enough about Hogwarts until they arrived.

The sorting process was shrouded in mystery, older cousins teasing younger ones about fighting trolls and unmasking dark wizards—and everyone knew it was a lie, of course, but there was just that one spark of _what if?_ that remained.

Oliver had been able to steer clear of such warnings, but his parents had been no more helpful than the family members of his village chums.

They wanted him to be in Gryffindor but promised not to be angry if he wasn't. But _how_ could he guarantee the sorting? All they said was that there was nothing to be scared of except a little stage fright—and even then, most people didn't experience that. _Stage fright_? Oliver was a terrible signer. And no better a musician. The signs pointed to the sorting ceremony being a talent show, and he doubted that he would be able to show off his broom skills.

They told him that the first glance at the castle was marvelous and breathtaking—so Oliver knew that Hogwarts was a castle, but who didn't? It was majestic and intimidating, but his father guaranteed that it was only because he was still a little bit of a runt. Which really wasn't that reassuring. What if there were beasts he had to fight?

Both of his parents were still friends with their old dormmates. Oliver hoped that would be the case for him down the line as well, but he wasn't blind. No one in the village was _exactly_ his age. All of the old school friends that visited his parents reminisced about people his parents didn't mention. He was young, not stupid. The war that no one talked enough about for him to truly understand had guaranteed that Oliver's generation was too small. That his parents' generation had been almost halved.

Would Hogwarts be the same as Oliver's village? What if he was the only one in his house? Or the only one in his whole _year_? His parents spoke of friends and shenanigans, alluding to the war only to say that they survived because they had a community, and Oliver knew that he wouldn't have to live through anything like that, but what was he going to _do_? Even the other boys teased him for being interested in Quidditch, for being a late bloomer, for being too curious and too determined when there was something new to explore in the surrounding woods.

Oliver voiced none of these worries to his parents as they saw him off to school. They were already nervous, feigning composure—Oliver heard his mum ask, "Maybe we should have taken cousin Gill's offer to send him overseas to get to know some of the other kids?"—and whatever their regrets, it was too late. They had done a fine job raising him. Oliver would miss them _so much_.

He mumbled as much into his dad's chest before rushing onto the train, and waved at them until his wrist ached and they sunk into the shadows of King's Cross.

Now, Oliver had to find a compartment. His trunk and owl were safely secured and his wand was in his back pocket—he had nothing to worry about. Except not finding anywhere to sit, not making any friends, and spending the next seven years in solitude. _Merlin_ , Oliver hoped that didn't happen.

Which was why he started walking down the corridor. All the compartments were full and loud. People were having fun, but Oliver didn't hear any nervous introductions—where were all the first years? Oliver didn't allow himself to stop and contemplate the question and simply moved on to the next car when this one proved useless. And the next one. And the next one. And the next one, until he was quite literally stopped in his tracks by a tall boy tripping out of a compartment and bumping him onto the floor.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry." The boy clambered off him awkwardly. "My brothers kicked me out, I didn't see where I was going."

"That's alright, then."

They got to their feet. The boy brushed off his too-short, old-looking robe, and stuck his hand forward as if that would retract from a clearly poor background. "Percy Weasley."

"Oliver Wood." He returned the handshake.

They stood there for a second.

The compartment door behind Percy shook as someone knocked on it, and a voice yelled out, "Ask him what year he's in!"

Another voice shushed the first, but didn't follow its owner's instructions. "And where he's from!"

"Don't shush me!" the first voice yelped. There was a thump. "And don't hit me, I give good advice!"

"That's so awkward!" Another thump. "This isn't an interview, this could be Percy's first friend!"

Oliver glanced from the door to Percy, whose ears were bright red and who looked ready to jump out of the window.

"The brothers?" Oliver asked when it seemed that Percy would rather let the awkwardness grow. That, or he didn't know how to proceed.

Percy nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

"I'm a first year, I'm from Scotland, and... my parents found out I was a wizard when I made a house broom fly because I wanted to play Quidditch but they said I was too young." He shrugged at Percy's confused face. "It's a conversation, isn't it? What about you?"

"I'm a first year, I'm from Devon, and I don't know how my parents found out I had magic."

"You levitated a book down from one of the top shelves!" a helpful voice said through the door.

Percy didn't answer it. Instead, he finally met Oliver's eyes, took a deep breath and said, "Please excuse my idiot brothers. They kicked me out of the compartment so I could find a friend. If they haven't spooked you, I think there's an empty compartment at the end of the car?"

* * *

Time passed much quicker with Percy. Their conversation flowed and then stopped, then started again, then stopped as they, unused to finally talking to someone their own age, awkwardly tried to think of what to say next.

"What do you think it's like?" Oliver asked as the sky outside started to darken.

Percy shrugged. "Bill won't say. He didn't tell Charlie either, so Charlie wants it to be fair. Mum and Dad said to let them have their fun, so I don't know. I tried reading _Hogwarts, a History_ , but it was so _boring_! But... big, castle-y... probably filled with sets of armor and old tapestries. The Great Hall's supposed to be beautiful."

Oliver nodded. "Yeah, I tried reading it, too. Only got as far as the explanation for the table layout in the Hall before I fell asleep."

He didn't now if it had been on purpose, but the decision to write a book about Hogwarts and make it unbearably boring went a long way in preserving the school's mystery. Even people like Percy—he had been warned that Percy liked to read, and warned him in return that he liked to play Quidditch—could barely get through it.

The conductor walked in, warning them that they would arrive soon, and so they spent the rest of the ride speculating about what exactly was inside the castle. Percy didn't think that there would be any creatures there, but he sounded unsure as he said it. Oliver didn't feel reassured.

But Percy stuck close to him when they exited the train, so Oliver knew he wasn't alone. He hoped Percy would be in his house, but they hadn't discussed it, not wanting to tempt fate, only talking about the classes they wanted to take.

Now, they followed the large, hairy groundskeeper—"Hagrid," Percy reminded him when Oliver asked—over to a small fleet.

"Two to a boat," Hagrid announced as if that would make their year look larger.

They sat, Percy's legs taking up too much space and Oliver's not enough, and off they went. The lake was dark and the sky was cloudless; the stars sparkled down at them, distant and cold; in the distance, a large shape loomed.

 _Hogwarts_.

Oliver wasn't the only one that gasped, forgetting about the dark and the cold, seeing the castle for the first time and feeling like he was coming home. Or not home—he didn't want to think of his parents, now, it would be his first time being truly away from them—but something so close it was almost indistinguishable.

He was more jittery, anxious, and yet...

Oliver exchanged a smile with Percy and saw excitement reflecting back at him. Percy had relaxed, too, his shoulders no longer up at his ears, his legs freer in the cramped space of the boat. Oliver allowed himself to look around, to see trees reflecting in the lake and the lights from the castle windows giving its shape a greater definition. He got comfortable on the boat's wooden bench, but just as quickly as he did so, the boats docked and Hagrid lined them up.

Oliver's knees started to shake. The stars felt judgmental and the open windows seemed to taunt him, the castle giving him just a small look inside before it rejected him. Which was ridiculous, and _yet_.

They were led into the castle itself, and at this point, Oliver was too nervous to note the architecture or decorations. He didn't look around at his fellow first years, either, so he didn't know if he was the only one. Percy, at least, felt rigid at his side. Hagrid handed them off to _Minerva McGonagall_ , and this time Oliver knew he wasn't the only one that gasped.

 _Minerva McGonagall_!

Percy whispered something about her penning numerous ground-breaking treatises on Transfiguration, and sure, that was cool. But she had almost played for the Magpies! As a sixth-year!

She didn't look like a star quidditch player, however, and as much as Oliver was calmed by her presence, he was almost intimidating. She was the Head of Gryffindor—he wanted to be in Gryffindor _so badly_ —and looked so strict that Oliver stopped shaking in fear just in case she noticed and berated him for it.

He took a deep breath when she turned around. This was it.

"Good luck," Percy whispered.

"Good luck."

Oliver hoped that his voice hadn't squeaked or broken too much. No one laughed, but even if no one was voicing it, they were a bundle of nerves—no one was paying attention.

And then the doors opened. And Oliver's feet carried him forward even though his body wanted to remain behind. And his eyes looked around even though he didn't want to seem too eager, and they caught on the house banners adorning the walls, on the tall windows, on the ceiling which wasn't a ceiling at all.

"Percy, look!"

The stars twinkled at them in the Great Hall, now, and they looked warm. Warm and welcoming, far away beyond the levitating candles that lit the Hall in dancing oranges and yellows. The outside chill was gone, kept at bay by the fire and the castle's magic, and there didn't even seem to be a stage for the talent show Oliver had been imagining.

He could… he could do this. No one was jeering or laughing. McGonagall hadn't called him out for being nervous, causing him to drop dead from embarrassment. He had made a _friend_.

All that was left was the Sorting. And now it didn't even seem that daunting.


	2. First Year - 2: History of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History of Magic and note-taking are far from fun, but at least Oliver isn't alone in this.

For all that it had stratified classes, Wizarding society didn't have a formal social organization. That was about as far as Oliver got in History of Magic before he stopped paying attention to Professor Binns and started looking at a bird outside the window. It was still cool to have a class on history—he had read Quidditch Through the Ages about ten times before his mum had gotten him more advanced theory books—but how on earth could the Goblin Rebellion be boring? Not that they had gotten to it yet. Oliver had skimmed through the textbook the night before class, and it was the only reason why his heart didn't jump to his toes the moment Binns announced a quiz for the next week. But even after a single week of classes, he knew that Binns would find a way to ruin it.

"I don't think I've ever had a quiz before," Percy said later that night, looking over his notes, nose scrunched up in concentration and glasses slightly askew. "Mum always just made us do assignments."

Oliver hummed in agreement. "We could ask your brothers?"

Percy sighed but nodded.

Oliver, not having any older siblings or even cousins, could only understand a little of what Percy was feeling. He had seen more of Bill and Charlie than he had of anyone else in their year. Which wasn't difficult, because he and Percy were the only two Gryffindor first-years, and the other houses didn't really talk to them yet. But still. Bill was a fifth-year and Charlie was a third-year, and they had plenty of their own friends. They frequently checked in on Percy, either teasing him or giving him tips, and weren't nearly as mean as Oliver thought older brothers would be.

Still, they were completely unhelpful when Percy and Oliver asked about what exactly a quiz was. And Bill didn't do anything when Charlie ruffled their hair, even though Percy was almost taller than him and Oliver should have protection against that though closeness to Percy.

Oliver's notes were messy and trailed off about three quarters into the class. He tried to decipher his final efforts but couldn't remember the context, so sat after dinner comparing his notes against Percy's. They were thorough but written in such small handwriting—"So I don't use too much parchment," Percy sheepishly admitted—that Oliver had to squint to make out individual words, much less letters. There was little wonder Percy wore glasses.

"I can't," Oliver said eventually, leaning away from the desk towards Percy, who was lounging in bed and reading one of the many books he'd checked out from the library on their second day at Hogwarts. "Percy, what does this say?"

"Hmm?"

Oliver threw over the parchment, which taunted him and instead of landing on Percy's face—which should have been smug because he actually paid attention in class but instead looked confused because his brothers had been no help—floated side to side and moved only several inches away.

He groaned, stood, picked it up, and shoved it over Percy's book. "What does this say?"

Percy squinted at the text.

Oliver bit his lip and waited.

Percy traced the letters with his finger.

Oliver rocked back and forth in the silence.

Percy tilted his head and brought the parchment closer.

Oliver tried not to sigh too loudly. This was taking a bit too long.

Percy looked up apologetically.

Oliver's heart plummeted to his knees along with his future grade.

"Oh!" Percy looked back down suddenly. "I got it! It's a list of why the Wizarding World didn't develop a monarchy like the Muggle World."

It was a single line of the cramped writing of a first-year unused to taking such meticulous notes. "That's not a list!"

"It is if you read it correctly!"

"I don't think I could read it in a million years." Oliver sighed. "But we could go over it together?"

Percy still looked dubious. "You can't possibly want to…"

"I _want_ to pass that quiz." Oliver pushed Percy's legs to make room for himself on the bed. "Come on, tell me about Wizarding royalty—"

"Wizards don't have royalty."

"See? I'm learning already!" Oliver laughed in victory when Percy chucked, then when he returned the laugh. "Let's study together. What else?"

They were going to ace this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D


	3. First Year - 3: Homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy is doing homework and Oliver is so bored.

"What's your team?" Oliver asked Percy a few weeks into term.

There hadn't yet been a Quidditch game, and he hadn't brought his Puddlemere paraphernalia to school in case he didn't like his dormmates—his parents were sending it over within the next few week s—and as a first-year, Oliver was unable to fly, so he was cooped up and bored.

Percy shrugged. "I like the Wanderers."

Oliver hummed. "I like Puddlemere, myself."

"I know."

Oliver tried not to pout. Eleven-year-olds did _not_ pout.

But he was bored! It was morning, a weekend, and yet they were stuck in the Common Room doing homework. McGonagall was one of the coolest people Oliver had ever seen—she could turn into a _cat_!—but she was _evil_. No one had the right to give so many assignments over the last warm weekend of autumn.

At least she wasn't as bad as Snape. Even Percy couldn't stand him, and Percy had quickly become a favorite student in all of their classes, though he always blushed and stuttered when he was called on: "Bill!—I mean Charlie—no, _Merlin_ , Arth—Percy!"

Most defaulted to "Weasley."

He leaned back in the armchair and hoped that one day, probably seven years later, he would be able to claim it as _his_. As it was, he could only sit in it when it was empty, and always stood up when someone older came in.

"If you're so bored, you could start the essay for Charms."

Oliver shot Percy a dirty look. "I don't want to."

Percy shrugged and returned to the parchment he was bent over. There was some ink on the tip of his nose, and some in his hair. He had some of the worst handwriting Oliver had ever seen, and his Aunt Prudence was a Healer! It was a miracle Percy's hand wasn't constantly cramping—or maybe it was. He held his quill so tightly and wrote so small. Oliver himself had larger handwriting, though admittedly it wasn't much neater.

"If we finish early, we can go into the grounds later."

And what, _walk around_?

"Ugh." Oliver sat up and poked Percy's upper arm until he finally looked over. "That's _boring_."

"I'm sorry it doesn't live up to your adventurous expectations." Percy shrugged. "You could always jump in the lake if you want something fun."

Oliver shivered. The water was deceptively clear and probably very warm, considering how up north they were, but there was a Giant Squid in it. He wasn't falling for it.

He told as much to Percy.

He shrugged again. "You should prepare anyway. When Fred and George get here, I'm sure they'll find a way to throw me in, and you'll have to dive in and save me."

Oliver laughed—was it a joke? Just a little bit. Percy always mentioned his siblings off-handedly, fondly but exasperatedly, and knowing Bill and Charlie, Oliver didn't know what to expect with the others. He was excited to meet them years down the line, though. When he would be older and able to say "leave us alone" when Percy wanted him to.

But now, he was one of two first-years in Gryffindor, and he was _bored_. There were some girls in their year, too, but come on, girls? They had _cooties_ , Oliver wasn't stupid. The only person he could spend time with was Percy, and Percy didn't even seem to like Quidditch!

"If it's Quidditch you're looking for," Percy said, and Oliver felt himself blush as much as his friend usually did when he realized he'd said that out loud, "you could always talk to that troll Flint."

Oliver shuddered.

"And I don't not like Quidditch," Percy continued, "I just don't..."

Oliver looked up. Percy had sounded like he wanted to continue, but he... wasn't. He had returned to his homework, scribbling away a longer answer than Oliver could ever want to write, as if they hadn't spoken.

"You just don't what?"

"Hmm?" Percy looked up. The tips of his ears were pink. "Oh, well. Bill doesn't play for the school but he's always the first up in the air on holiday. And you know Charlie's seeker. Fred and George, too... they all play at home, I've seen Ginny sneak a broom out of the shed when no one's looking. They make me play, too, three on three—"

"Not Ginny?"

Percy shook his head. "She's too young. She'd like to much more than me, but I think they enjoy tormenting me a little with that."

"Are you any good?"

Percy actually laughed. "Not at all!"

"Oh."

"I can stay up on a broom pretty well, but... I don't really have the drive you all do."

"The drive?"

"Don't pretend, I know you're trying to figure out a way to let McGonagall let you try out as a first-year."

"Yeah, okay. You've got a point." Oliver laughed. "What are you interested in?"

Percy shot him a look that was eerily similar to the one McGonagall wore that one time she scolded them for talking in class. "Getting a good grade."

Oliver groaned and dramatically threw himself backwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully a once-a-week update schedule!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
